


The Promised Prince

by Dancingtink



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Princess Diaries Fusion, F/M, Princess Diaries AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-16 23:29:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13064427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancingtink/pseuds/Dancingtink
Summary: “My estranged grandmother came to visit. Told me I was the heir to a country called Westeros. Said that if I didn’t take over some evil villain would and she has been giving me prince lesson since.” He said his laughter spilling out desperate and clawing.“Okay, you’re not telling,” Sansa refused to be hurt. He wouldn’t tell Robb. Why would Robb's annoying younger sister be any different?“Wait,” she said. “Westeros?” Her eyes getting so big Jon probably thought they were going to pop out her head.“Yes, do you know it?”“Joffrey is from there. His uncle Tyrion is the prime minister.”“Oh my god!” They both said.





	The Promised Prince

“Wait did you just -” Jon resisted the urge to scan the room not entirely convinced that his head hadn’t just exploded.“You just said. That I’m- the crown prince is me?” His voice so high he might as well be going through puberty again.   
  
When Jon got the invitation from his estranged grandmother for brunch at the royal embassy, he brushed it off as remnants of a guilty conscience. He wasn’t going to go, he had thought. He’d rather share pants with fire ants then share a meal with his distant grandmother who life was so far removed from his own that they might as well be on different planets.  
  
But then his mother stepped in. Reminded her that he could never know his father but he could know her. That she was his only living grandparent and her only grandchild. Her guilt trip and puppy dog eye made him cave. His mother was his favorite person in the world and she never asked him for anything. He could give her this.  
  
But now that he was here. Surrounded by glittery gold that could probably cover the entirety of his college debt with his brain scatter about he realized he didn’t quite know what she was asking.  
  
“Ahem,” his grandmother, Rhaella, cleared her throat.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he started, “I’m just-“ he broke off not quite knowing what he was.  
  
Rhaelle’s eye softened. Her sad mouth, not unlike Jon’s, turned up. She reached over the rich wooden table and grabbed Jon’s hand. Her fingers a reflection of the gentle life of her youth, her grip in contrast. Powerful and commanding. A better reflection of her life after her husband, the king of Westeros apparently, died.  
  
“I know this is overwhelming.”   
  
Jon choked on a laugh.  _Quite the understatement_ , he thought.  
  
“But the people of Westeros need a leader and if you don’t take the role someone far worse will.”  
  
Jon had only known his grandmother for a few hours and in that time she seemed every bit the royal she was. From her fresh-pressed clothes. To her slicked-back silver bun. To her serious eyes. But in that moment as she spoke about the future of her country, he saw something else. Her eyes which had seemed ageless seconds ago were now weighed down and lined. Her breath quick. Her words fast.  
  
“The Baratheons have had their eyes on Westeros for years. Decades even. If you abdicate,” she took a breath. Steeling herself for what she was about to say. “They will get the throne.”  
  
“Wait,” Jon said. “I remember hearing about Westeros on the news. You have a daughter.”  
  
“Yes, I do. But it is likely that the news report you saw was about Dany abdicating the throne. She is currently in Essos. She runs a shelter for women and children that have been human trafficked.”  
  
“Oh, that’s nice.”  
  
“Yes, she has a good heart. Unfortunately, her absence has left a hole in Westeros. A hole only you can fill. You are the only heir of Westeros.”  
  
She paused and let him soak in the weight of that statement.  
  
“I understand you need time to adjust. It is not everyday you go from college student to crowned prince.” She smiled.   
  
“I wish I could give you time to think. To learn our history and culture but time is of the essence. There is a ball in three months. The lords and ladies of Westeros will be expecting an announcement about your decision then.”  
  
“I don’t - I’m not cut out to be a prince. It took me two years to pick a major. I stutter when I talk to girls. Last week I got a comb stuck in my hair.”  
  
For a moment Jon swore he saw his grandmother biting back a smile.  
  
“I can’t be a prince.” He said.  
  
“I understand. But please do this one thing. Do not make your final decision right now. Take some time with your mother. Sleep on it even. But Jon this decision does not just affect you. It affects an entire country.”  
  
Jon glanced away for her serious eyes and nodded his head.  
  
“Okay, I’ll think on.”  
  
“Thank you,” his grandmother sighed. “That’s all I can ask.”  
  
  
───────────────  
  
  
Jon could count the number of people he trusted on one hand. It was a short list with only one constant, his mother. His protector from birth and best friend. But looking at her now Jon questioned if he ever truly knew her.  
  
“How could you not tell me?”  
  
“We were going to tell you after your eighteenth birthday. But then Rhaegar died and I didn’t see any point. Both Viserys and Daenerys were still in line for the throne. There was no reason for you inherit.”  
  
“Okay, but how did you even date a crowned prince?’ Jon asked in between pacing their small kitchen Ghost’s white form trailing beside him.  
  
“I was young. He was older and so different from the boys I grew up with. Cultured and charming. And we were so removed from our everyday lives. We didn’t think we just acted.”   
  
Jon stopped and looked at her. “Why did it end?”  
  
“I arrived at my happily ever after. Complete with a prince and a palace only to realize I wanted none it. I mean can you see me polished, proper, and always two steps behind someone.”  
  
The image was a sharp contrast to the mother he grew up with. A wild spirit that would take him on a weekend trip at a moments notice. Know for carrying pens in her hair in case inspiration struck.  
  
“I wanted to report the news, not make.”  
  
“I know,” she said.  
  
“Do you think I should do it?”  
  
“Be the crowned prince?”   
  
He nodded at her question.  
  
“I know your father loved Westeros. I know that it’s part of your history. Your heritage,”’ She paused and looked at the counter. “But I think only you can decide whether or not to be their prince.”   
  
Lyanna reached over and grabbed his hand. “You don’t have to decide right now. Get to know Rhaella. Learn about Westeros and what it takes to and then decide.”  
  
Jon thought it sounded more like a non-decision. But he was drowning and she just offered him some rope. He would be a fool not to take it.  
  
  
───────────────  
  
  
Growing up Sansa was the epitome of perfect. Not a hair out of place. Clothes picked out with care. Both class president and honor roll student. Her life after King Landing was far from perfect though. Chaotic would be a better word to describe it. Unable to sit still without a paintbrush in her hand. Hands constantly covered in paint and charcoal. Clothes picked for comfort. But Sansa wouldn’t change it for anything. She was the happiest she had been in a long time. No longer was she forcing herself to endure math, complicated hairdos, or jerk boyfriends.  
  
The sound of her brother’s voice raised and forceful, distracted her from her thoughts. Unable to kill her curiosity she cracked open her door. Jon Snow’s calm and low voice met her ears.  
  
“I know I haven’t been around lately, and I’m sorry for that. But I have my reasons.”  
  
“Oh, and what, pray tell, would these reasons be?” Robb asked.  
  
Jon looked like he had been punched. Nose scrunched up. Eye squeezed close. Sansa wanted to reach out and touch him. To soothe his pain and chase away the demons following him.  
  
“I can’t tell you,” Jon said.  
  
_Wrong answer_ , Sansa thought. Robb was willing to take a lot from his friends but not lying. And to him, withholding information was the same as lying.  
  
“I had to put together an entire episode of Robb Rambles by myself.”   
  
Sansa couldn’t help but roll her eye. Four people watched Robb’s talk show, and two of them were their parents.  
  
“I’m sorry. I’ll help with the next one.”  
  
“No. It’s too late,” Robb paused.  _Drama queen_ , she thought.  
  
“And for your information, I threw your friendship bracelet in the dirt.”  
  
“No,” Jon said looking pained again. “Not the friendship bracelet.”   
  
“Yes,” Robb said as he stormed away and slammed his door.   
  
Jon stared at Robb’s room waiting for him to come back out. After a minute he sighed and collapsed onto the couch. Sansa stepped out of her art studio and stopped in front of him. Now that she was closer she could see the bruises under his eyes. Could tell the broody frown that he often wore was deeper.  
  
“You okay?” She asked.  
  
He stopped rubbing his eyes and looked at Sansa. A slight smile forming on his lips. “Not really,” he sighed his eyes distant and lost. “What was the episode about?”  
  
“The potential extinction of the grey wolf.”  
  
“Uhh,” his head fell back against the couch.“That’s a good one.”  
  
Sansa hummed in agreement. “So, why weren’t you there?”  
  
“My estranged grandmother came to visit. Told me I was the heir to a country called Westeros. Said that if I didn’t take over some evil villain would and has been giving me prince lesson since.” He said his laughter spilling out desperate and clawing.  
  
“Okay, you’re not telling,” Sansa refused to be hurt. He wouldn’t tell Robb. Why would Robb's annoying younger sister be any different?  
  
“Wait,” she said. “Westeros?” Her eyes getting so big Jon probably thought they were going to pop out her head.  
  
“Yes, do you know it?”  
  
“Joffrey is from there. His uncle Tyrion is the prime minister.”   
  
“Oh my god!” They both said.  
  
“You aren't lying,” Sansa said in disbelief.  
  
“No,” he grabbed her hand and for a moment Sansa let herself think about how warm and comforting it felt.“Joffrey is a Baratheon right?”  
  
“Yeah,” Sansa said.  
  
“The Baratheon are next in line. If I don’t take the throne, they will,” he said.   
  
That did it. Sansa’s eyes were no longer in her head but rolling around on the floor somewhere.  
  
“Joffrey could be king?” Sansa asked. “Oh god, Jon you have to do it. They can’t rule. They’re horrible people.”   
  
Jon seemed to deflate at that, and she hesitated. “And you should tell Robb.” She squeezed his hand and let go. “He’d understand.”  
  
Jon stared at her for a moment before nodding. He pushed off the couch and started towards Robb’s room.   
  
“Wait.” Sansa ignored the storm starting in her stomach. “My first art show is in a few weeks. It would be really great if you could come.”  
  
For the first time that day Jon seemed lighter. His brilliant smile shining full force.   
  
“That’s wonderful, Sansa.” He said. “I’ll definitely be there.”  
  
Sansa smiled and inclined her head towards Robb’s room. “Go save your friendship bracelet.”  
  
Jon laughed and stepped towards the door. As he disappeared one thought floated through her mind.  _Yes, I am happy. But something is still missing._  
  
  
  
───────────────  
  
  
  
  
After his grandmother’s third huff Jon knew it was going to be a long day. They had been going over Westeros culture for a week and Jon was struggling. When he started he thought it would be easy.  _It can’t be that different._  But then he learned about knights and lords and ladies and what felt like a million different religions. He was drowning so badly he could have been one of those gods. He just couldn’t quite remember which one.  
  
“Let’s take a break,” his grandmother pushed her chair out and stood up. “I need to freshen up.”  
  
When Jon was sure she was gone he pulled his phone out.  
  
_HELP!!!_  He texted.  
  
_Please tell me you don’t almost set your grandmother on fire again?_  
  
_That was one time!!! And I told you that in secrecy._  
  
_Okay, alright. What is it?_  
  
Jon paused. It was the fourth time this week he texted  Sansa, she had almost an encyclopedia knowledge of Westeros and it was vastly helpful but he couldn’t help but worry he was bothering her.  
  
_If you are busy don’t worry. I’ve just been struggling with all the different religions. And I may have accidentally implied something dirty about one of the Seven. I not really sure tbh. _  
  
_JON! I don’t… HOW!?!?_  
  
_IF I KNEW I WOULDN’T KEEP GETTING THE DEATH GLARE FROM MY GRANDMOTHER. I NEED HELP._  
  
_Yes, Jon, that is abundantly clear :) Try this link. It goes through all the different religions. Let me know if it is helpful!_  
  
_YOU ARE A LIFESAVER!_  
  
_I live to serve. Try not to set anything on fire!_  
  
Jon laughed. A low creaking alerted him to his grandmother's return and he quickly shoved his phone under the table and schooled his face into a serious look.  
  
  
  
  
───────────────  
  
  
  
  
His room looked like a disaster, coats and ties that cost more than some people make in a month strewn about.  
  
“What about this?” Sansa held up a charcoal tux. Jon wasn’t sure what made this tux different than the five other charcoal tuxedos his grandmother sent over but he grabbed it to try on anyway.  
  
Tomorrow was the Westeros Annual Fundraiser and Jon’s grandmother decided it would be the perfect time to introduce Jon to the high society of Westeros. He had just finished listing off the royals of Westeros dating back centuries when she’d looked him over and nodded.  _That will do_ , she said and Jon swore he caught a glimmer of pride in her eyes and the start of one of her rare smiles.  
  
_And now I am here_ , he thought, trying on the twentieth tux of the day.  
  
“How does it look?” He asked stepping out of the bathroom doing what he was sure was a ridiculous looking spin.  
  
Sansa shrugged her shoulders and Robb glanced up from his phone and narrowed his eyes. “The Armani looked better.”  
  
It had been a surprise to both Jon and Sansa when Robb started naming brands and judging styles.  _What_ , he’d asked,  _you hang around with Theon long enough you pick up on a few things_.  
  
Out of all them, he thought Sansa would be the expert. She was always so put together in high school and she had dated a royal after all. It was half the reason he invited her today. But he should have realized, Sansa had been different since she returned home from her stint at Kings Landing. It was only now that he was spending more he starting realizing just how much she had changed. She was quieter, more observant and lighter somehow. As if she had been carrying a vast weight on her soul that she left in King's Landing.  
  
“So…” Sansa started, “go with the Armani.” But her eyes were scrunch up, her mouth downturned. Both she and Jon glanced at Robb waiting for his final judgment. He looked Jon over one last time before nodding.  
  
“Yes, go with the Armani.” Robb pocketed his phone and sat up straight. “Now that’s finished we can get to the fun part.”  
  
“What’s the fun part?” Sansa asked.  
  
Robb turned to and looked at his sister eyes wide and jaw open. “Planning Jon’s appearance on Robb Rambles of course.”  
  
“Right.” Sansa schooled her face; a look Jon imagined she perfected after years of growing up with Robb.  
  
“So I thought since everyone will know that you are the prince of Westeros we could get your take on the state of the country. What policies should be changed, who in the government needs to go, how can Westeros modernize.”  
  
As Robb continued on Jon could help but share a smile with Sansa. She was probably the only other person in the world that knew and understood this side of Robb. Even without their newly-formed friendship, they would always share that. 

 

───────────────  
  
  
  
Whatever it was they were serving was green, very green and Jon wasn’t sure what to do with it. He looked around and saw everyone eating it and started to do the same. _Oh fuckfuckfuck_, he thought. Within seconds his head felt like a glacier rushed through it. He slammed his hands on the table and started whining slightly. The noise caught the attention of Tyrion Lannister and Val, a princess from some country north of Westeros.  
  
“Oh no,” Tyrion said staring at Jon. After a moment Tyrion seemed to make a decision, he grabbed his spoon and took a spoonful as big as Jon’s. It was long before Tyrion was making just as big a scene as Jon.  
  
Jon saw the princess smirk before doing the same as Tyrion and Jon.  And for what felt like forever the three of them sit whimpering and whining while everyone looked on.  Finally, Jon felt relief. He reached out and grabbed his water hoping that would help clear the rest of his brain.    
  
Tyrion leaned over and whispered to Jon, “It was a platelet cleanser.  Only meant for small bites. ”  
  
“Yeah, I realized that,” Jon said.  “Thank you, though. For not letting me look like an idiot by myself. ”  
  
“Well,” Tyrion smiled, “I have always had a soft spot for underdogs. Plus, nothing would anger my sister more than you taking the throne. ”  
  
He nodded his head in the direction of his sister. Jon briefly glanced over and found Cersei staring at him. Sansa’s words came back to him;  _she would rip your heart out and eat if she thought it would help her or her family_. At the time he thought that whatever happened between her and  Joffrey left her burned on the whole family but now, under the receiving end of Cersei’s death glare he realized he was wrong. _That woman would kill me if she thought she could get away with it._  
  
“She’s not happy with this situation is she?”  
  
Tyrion choked on his wine and laughed. “Not happy is an understatement. She had the throne in her sights and then you came along and ruined everything. ”  
  
Jon rested his head in his hands.  A dull throbbing started at Tyrion’s words.  
  
“Let me just say,” Tyrion said as they started to bring dessert out, “I have only known you for a few hours but I would already take you over my sister or her son.”  
  
The dull ache became a full blow pounding at his words.  
  
The waiter set a plate down and Jon thanked God, Zeus, and anyone else that was listening for the distraction. Grapes, pears, and chocolate.  _That’s different_ , he thought as he picked up a grape. Before he could eat it he heard a small clearing of the throat. Anyone else would think nothing of it, but Jon had heard that sound countless times, it was both dignified and disapproving. Jon turned and found his grandmother looking at him, her knife and fork raised subtly. He looked down at his plate. _How in the hell am I supposed to eat a grape with a fork and a knife_, he wondered. It felt excessive and ridiculous. _Is_ _this what matters to them._ _Manners and propriety._ He couldn’t see how he could ever fit into that mold and he wasn’t sure he wanted to but he picked up his utensils anyway. Within seconds the grape was flying across the room landing on some random royal’s plate and Jon didn’t whether to laugh or cry.    
  
There was a moment of silence before the royal picked up the grape and through his head back, a laugh roaring out. It wasn’t long before Jon saw Rhaella hide her smile behind her hand her musical laughter following shortly. Slowly laughs slipped out until everyone had tears runs down their face. It should make Jon feel better, but all he felt was a pit in his stomach.  _I don’t belong here_.  
  
  
───────────────  
  
  
Jon was finishing his second drink and wanted nothing more than to get another. The watchful eye of his grandmother and his own personal sense of preservation stopped him. He was tired, grumpy, and ready to go home but the rest of attendees did not seem intent on stopping.    
  
“You made quite a scene earlier,” the northern princess from earlier stepped beside him.    
  
“I-” Jon laughed, “yeah.”  
  
“I don’t mean that as a bad thing.  These parties can get so boring. ”  
  
“Oh good,” Jon smiled, “I thought I was the only one. ”  
  
“No,” she stepped closer and reached her out, “I’m Val.”  
  
Jon grasped her hand, grip firm and slightly calloused, “Jon.”  
  
“Jon,” she said slowly as if testing out the sounds, “I think you are the only person that is more out of place then me.”  
  
Jon looked at her unsure how to continue.  
  
“Although my first official event ended with me attempting to fight the commander of the Night’s Watch so I still think I have you beat.”  
  
The tightness in Jon's shoulders left and for the first time that night Jon started to feel comfortable.  
  
“So what you are saying is I am only half a disaster.”  
  
“Yes,” Val let out a quiet laugh, “it all a game anyway. A palace built from sugar. Pretty to look at, even to taste, but it will rot your teeth and melt in the rain. Not real or lasting. None of this means anything to the people we lead. ”   
  
“So how do we help them?”  
  
“We listen to them. Most people want simple things. To be safe, to be fed and clothed, to have shelter, to be healthy. It’s our job to make sure all our people have that. ”  
  
“And what if we fail?” It’s that part that kept Jon up at night. An entire country dependent upon him. His failures could mean suffering for thousands.  
  
“Then you do better next time.”  
  
  
───────────────  
  
  
Sansa’s eyes narrowed as she stepped into the studio. The white lights and cleans walls making the room overwhelmingly bright. She paused a second as she felt her heart empty out and her breathing stalled. It was here, the very thing that Sansa had only let herself dream about in the back of her mind. Her very first art show.  
  
As Sansa was scanning the room, she felt a hard thump on her back. “Congratulations, Sans,” Robb’s hand moved to ruffle her hair before she could duck away.  
  
“Stop,” Sansa said, hoping she didn’t sound like whining child.  
  
“It looks amazing, Sansa,” Jon said, trailing in after Robb.  
  
“Well, my art is just one of many,” she paused at the start of a hesitant smile, “But it is pretty awesome.”  
  
For a second he just looked at her.  Finally, he grabbed her arm and pulled her into a hug, his body warm and oh so perfect against hers. “You deserve this,”  he whispered, his warm, soft lips brushing her ear.  
  
She didn’t how he knew; if he heard the shake in her voice or read the tension in her shoulders but it was exactly what she needed to hear. _It’s perfect, he’s perfect._ And  Sansa’s throat started to close, her eyes started to sting because this night was everything she could ever want and nothing she could keep. The art show would end, Jon would leave, and Sansa would go back to being a college drop out and struggling artist. She held him tight, pretending for one last second before letting go.  
  
“Okay,” Sansa said, a smile tight on her face, “my stuff is back this way.”

───────────────  
  
  
Sansa collapsed in the corner, her bones aching, her head pounding, and all around ready to be done with people. The guests had trickled down, and Jon was the only one left in her room. He had spent the whole night wandering around the room with what Sansa thought, what Sansa hoped was a look of wonder.  
  
He kept coming back to one paint.  A glimpse of the ocean before a storm all greys and blues and greens. “Is this in Westeros?” He asked, still staring at the painting.  
  
“Yeah,” She walked up beside him. “I’ve only been to Westeros a few times but the ocean there has never failed to amaze me. ”  
  
“It…” he trailed off. “I’ve always heard art is about emotion, about making you feel something. But this. It doesn’t make me feel something it’s more like… ” he hesitated, “a reflexion of everything I’m feeling. It’s fear, and it’s anger and the possibility of something new and feeling so…”  
  
He stopped again, and Sansa could help but fill in the rest, “Unworthy.” 

Jon looked at her and the world seemed to stop. Sansa Stark had loved Jon Snow since she was eight years and he told her brother off for teasing her but this moment confirmed that he was it for her. Because Sansa has never talked about this painting or what it meant to her but Jon knew. It was as if she’d let him look into her soul, every dark and mess inch of it. And what he saw was a reflection of himself and how could she ever move in from that. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to melt into his arms and never let go but before she could do anything Jon blink repeatedly, emerging from whatever thought he was lost in.

  
“Yeah,” he said, his voice rough.  He cleared his throat before continuing, “I need to head out but before I go I wanted to ask you something. ”  
  
“Okay,” she slowly said nodding her head.  
  
“I don’t know if Robb told you but next is the official Westeros dance or ball or whatever you want to call and I was wondering if you wanted to come?” He asked.  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yeah,” Jon said, “I don’t think I could have made it this far without.”  
  
He stepped closer and grabbed her hand; it made her heart drop and her stomach flutter, “It wouldn’t feel right without you there. ”  
  
“Okay,” Sansa smiled, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”  
  
  
───────────────  
  
  
Jon had been staring at the tuxedo for what felt like an hour. Today was the day. In a few hours, he was going to be standing in front of hundreds of people, telling them he was going to rule their country or telling them he wasn’t.  
  
Soft fur bumped his hand reminded him he wasn’t alone.    
  
“Hi buddy,” he rubbed Ghost head at low whine he let out.    
  
“I’m sorry,” he said knowing Ghost had the uncanny ability to sense how he was feeling. He buried his face in Ghost’s white fur.  “I just don’t know how to this.”  
  
There was no good answer; he could take the throne, and ruin everyone’s lives, or he could let the Baratheons rule and ruin everyone’s lives. The outcome was the same the people of Westeros, who never asked for any of this, were screwed.  
  
Jon pulled back and grabbed his things. “Come on buddy,” he picked up Ghost’s leash and tilted his head towards the door. “Let's go. ”  
  
  
───────────────  
  
  
It had been one hour since Jon was supposed to arrive. Thirty minutes until he was supposed to get on stage and give a speech to a room full people. Sansa’s shoes were ruined, her hair was sopping wet, and her makeup was no longer on her eyes but all over her face. She wanted to give up, throw in the towel and go home to get warm. But instead of home, she ended up at the pier, soaked to the bone.  
  
“How did you find me?” He turned to her, his curly hair weighed down and covering his eyes.  
  
“It’s where I would go,” Sansa said, “if it were me.”  
  
He nodded his head and turned back to the ocean. “All I could think about was telling a country of people that the Baratheons would be ruling.” He wiped his hair out of his face and sighed.  “And then I thought about telling them I was going to rule and how royally I was going to fuck it up.  And I just...” he breathed out,  “couldn’t.”  
  
She started towards him slowly as if he were a skittish animal that would run away at any moment.  “Jon,” she said softly, "why do you think that will happen? ”  
  
He laughed and somehow it sounded both bitter and angry.  “How could I not? I mean, I’ve never even been there Sansa. ” He looked at her as she stepped next to him. “How can I rule an entire country when I can’t even make it through one dinner? ”  
  
“Jon,” she grabbed his hand and laced their finger together, “I want you to listen to what I am about to say. No interrupting, no questions, no anything. Okay? ”  
  
Jon nodded his head. The look in his eyes, both heartbreaking and haunting, almost broke her. “You don’t have to rule Jon.” His eyes widened. “You don’t. Westeros isn’t a total monarchy. There is only so much the Baratheon could do if they ruled. ”  
  
“So,” he hesitated, “don’t rule?”  
  
Sansa used her free hand to hit him in the arm. “What did I say about questions?”  
  
“Right,” Jon’s lips turned up, and he laughed softly. “Sorry. ”  
  
“I am saying that you don’t have to rule, not that you shouldn’t. Jon, not wanting to rule is understandable. But I think you want this. You care about things and want to make a difference.  And that fear of failure, I think it’s a good thing. ”  
  
Jon raised his eyebrows.    
  
“Having the wellbeing of thousands of people in your hands should be terrifying. Honestly, I think I would be worried if you didn’t feel that way. ”  
  
Jon looked back at the crashing wave and she knew he didn’t believe her.  
  
“You know that painting,” she changed her tactic, “The one of the ocean?”  
  
He nodded his head.  
  
“I painted after I decided to drop out of college. I was angry and terrified. And for the first time in my life, I was doing something unplanned and unexpected. But after I finished painted it I was just,” she paused, “at peace. ”  
  
She squeezed his hand and turned his head to her, his face cold and rough under her hand.  “You have to make a decision Jon.  You can’t run. Choose what makes you feel at peace. ”  
  
His grey eyes locked onto her’s.  “Why?”  
  
“Why, what?” She asked.  
  
“Why everything?” He asked, frustrated. “Why are you here? Why have you helped me so much? Why do you believe in me?  Why Sansa?” His was mouth downturned, his eyes serious.  
  
She let go of his hand and pushed his shoulders. “Because I love you, you dummy!”

He looked at her, eyes wide mouth gaping open.  
  
“You don’t have to say anything.”  She glanced away. “In fact, you can just forget I said-” Her words were cut off as his cold hands grabbed her face and brought her mouth to his. And it was soft and warm and so much more than she ever could have imaged. She reached up burying her hands in his soaked hair and pulled him closer. His body flush and perfect against hers, her teeth biting lightly on his bottom lip.  
  
He pulled away and pressed his head against her, breath slightly uneven. She wanted to smile in victory, to dance in the rain, to scream at the top of lungs because she did that and no matter what happened she would always have this moment.  
  
“Sansa, your dress,” he said, finally taking in her ruined appearance. He took off his coat and placed it on her shoulders. ”  
  
“Yeah, well,” she laughed, “I had a prince to save.”  
  
The smile that lit Jon’s face was brilliant and shining and just for her. She laced their hands and squeezed tight. “Are you ready to head back?”  
  
He looked at his car and the white dog inside it. “Yeah,” he nodded, “I think I am. ”  
  
  
───────────────  
  
  
“Well, Prince Jon,” Tyrion said,  “I’m glad you decided to take the throne. I genuinely believe you will serve us well. ”  
  
Jon threw his head back laughing.  “You believe anyone that isn’t your sister will serve well.”  
  
“That may be true.” Tyrion smiled. “But I have talked with your grandmother about you. We believe you are exactly what our country needs. ”  
  
Jon looked at Tyrion. He saw no smile, no humor. There was not even a hint of laughter on his face.  
  
“Thank you,” Jon said, “I hope I can serve the people well.”  
  
Tyrion smiles and looked away from Jon. “Ahh,” he nodded his head toward Sansa, “I do believe a certain girl is waiting for you. I wouldn’t want to keep her waiting any longer. ”  
  
The sight of Sansa laughing at something his mother said brought a ridiculous smile to his face.  He’s not sure how he didn’t see it before. The quiet way she carried herself, the sly smile and subtle humor, her endless kindness. Everything that made Sansa wonderful, amazing Sansa. All he knew was that he was never going back.  
  
He started towards her but was stopped short by a hand tight on his shoulder.  
  
“So,” Robb said, his eyes narrowed at Jon, “you and my sister?”  
  
“Yeah,” Jon said, his voice serious, “me and Sansa.”  
  
Robb looked at him a second longer before a smile broke out on his face. “Took you long enough.” He ruffled Jon hair before pushing him toward Sansa. “Go get her.”  
  
And he did just that. Making his way through the crowd until he stood in front of her.    
  
“Hi,” he said  
  
She smiled. “Hi.”  
  
“Well,” he heard his mother say, “I think that’s my queue.”  
  
“It was nice seeing you, Ms. Snow,” Sansa said still staring at Jon.  
  
“You too, Sansa.” Jon could hear the smile in her voice as she moved away.  
  
“So,” Jon started, “do you want to dance?”  
  
She glanced at the crowded dance floor, full of waltzing dignitaries, a smile lighting her face. She turned towards him her smile widening even more. “I have an idea.” She grabbed his arm, her touch light and soft and pulled him to a door.  
  
They stopped in the middle of the garden. Sansa’s face glowing in the soft fairy lights. The flowers smelling sweet and romantic.  
  
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him close.  He looked up at her as he placed his hand on her back. “And I thought I was short before,” he said.  
  
She laughed briefly and looked away. “Does it bother you?”  
  
He could tell that she was serious, and he could help but wonder if the prick, Joffrey, made her feel bad about it. “No, Sansa,” he said, “it doesn’t bother me.”  
  
“Besides, I am a new prince,” he leaned close and whispered in her ear, “I think I could use a little protection.”  
  
She breathed out a laugh and rested her head on his shoulder.  
  
“Jon,” she straightened, “why me?”  
  
“Why you?” He repeated. “Sansa you have believed in me and supported me completely, You make me laugh, your art…  I don’t even have words for it. And your the strongest person I know. Honestly, I could go on for hours, but I still don’t think I would be able to find the right words for how amazing you are.”  
  
He pushed her soft hair behind her ear and pressed their heads together. “I should be the one asking why me.”  
  
He felt her head nodding against his as she took a deep breath. A moment later her lips were against his. And they were soft and all Jon thought was, _why did this take me so long._  
  
When she pulled back, her cheeks were flushed. “So,” she said, “what now?”  
  
Jon couldn’t the laugh from falling off his lips. “I don’t know,” he said, “but I can’t wait to find out.”


End file.
